Verbal Contracts Aren't Always Gained Unwillingly
by A-BondofFlame-R
Summary: Wilson's overrun with paperwork and House can't get a reaction out of him. Well, desperate times call for not so desperate, though still improper and brash, measures.  Not smut, on a side note. Actually, it's rather fluffy.  Hilson.


My first House story, ever. Gentle, please?

Standard Disclaimers.

The Head of Oncology sat at his desk, hunched over a seemingly infinite stack of paperwork. In all the recent drama of his newest divorce, the loss of three patients, and all the therapeutic chats with Cuddy, he'd certainly gotten behind. Maybe he should stop hanging around House and picking up his habit of putting things off. But, as a retribution of sorts, he was doing all of his work now. In fact, he was so engrossed in his work that he didn't even notice his best friend walk in through the glass door.

"What, no hello? Jimmy, you hurt my tiny heart," the doctor quipped sarcastically, settling himself into a chair opposite Wilson. The brunette man didn't give him a glance, or one of his playful retorts. He was too busy today, and he was focused, complete with short answers and his patented 'game face.'

"Okay House." The diagnostician frowned. James hadn't taunted him back, verbally or with a glare. Determined, he eased himself further into the chair, propping his sneaker clad feet onto Wilson's desk for further effect.

"Cuddy just died and gave me control of the hospital in her will," he lied, waiting for a reaction. Perhaps it'd be an outburst of disbelief, or the 'oh, really?' challenge of a single raised brow.

"Okay House." The older man blinked. Damn, Wilson was good today. Grinning mischievously to himself, House wriggled his hand into his pocket ad with a soft click, he cleared his throat.

"Wilson, I've been desperately, hopelessly in love with you for years. I love the way you always manage to be nice, pushy, and deliciously sexy all in one moment. Please, I need your love. All I want is you. So be at my place, nine thirty.

Wear your normal clothes. I'm going to cook for you, and we'll drink wine, and then I'll have seduced you into having hot monkey sex in my shower, with you on bottom. No, but I really want to make you dinner." Smiling, House noted Wilson didn't miss a beat.

"Okay House." With an impish grin, House went on to his final line for his dear old friend.

"Sleep with me." House held his breath, waiting for the possible responses. His heart beat rapidly in anticipation.

"Okay House." A steady count sounded in his mind, acting as the countdown to his human ticking time bomb.

One….

Two….

Three.

Wilson's pen stopped scratching. Almost painfully fast, his head snapped up.

"Wait, wha- House- I-"he spluttered, catching his mistake. Greg just grinned at him, pulling his tape recorder from his pocket and waving it around victoriously. Wilson's jaw and pen dropped simultaneously.

"Ah-ah, Jimbo, we have a verbal contract here. Remember, nine thirty, my place. Don't forget a tie though; I've always wanted to take it off of you." Wilson's mouth was working furiously, trying to find some sort of verbal retribution. It tempted House to just shut him up right then and there. But he resisted. He just loved that face.

"Alright then, I'll see you." Lightning fast, House swooped down and gently pressed his lips onto Wilson's soft, open ones. Though he didn't take advantage of that fact, he wasn't THAT much of a heartless jerk. Pulling back, Greg flicked the oncologist's nose and sauntered away. Well, as much as you could saunter with a bum leg.

But, seeing as James didn't really care, it didn't really matter. Because he was too busy, yet again, sitting at his desk and thinking about what just happened. The only thing that saved him from the inevitable comatose state he was headed for was House tapping the glass with his cane as he walked down the hallway. The audacious man was actually smiling at him, not grinning or smirking, but a rare, sincere smile.

Wilson smiled too. House didn't realize that Cuddy didn't actually need any of these files done. Maybe he'd tell him that over dinner as a conversation starter. Beginning a date with 'So this is my tackiest tie, rip it the hell off me' didn't exactly seem proper. But…. James tapped his fingers together.

House was never proper, and that's just how he liked it.


End file.
